Excerpt

A Future Worth Fighting For | Indelible: Beneath His Ink

Giveaway below!! <3 

The leaves are still changing and I have the sniffles! Winter is coming and so are Teal and Trent!

Former Marine, Trent Reed, is in desperate need of a Hail Mary.

With each failed attempt to convince his woman to pack up and move to Kentucky, his past finds some new way to rear its ugly head. But when his pregnant ex plows into his life, all hell breaks loose—unearthing parts of his past he wished would stay buried.

Two weeks of vacation with her man? Hell yeah, that is exactly what Teal Lofton’s libido needs. And after surviving seven months apart, their reunion doesn’t disappoint. What she didn’t account for was an unfortunate encounter with people from Trent’s past. A racist, a druggie, and a double-barreled shotgun, culminate into a vacation that will alter the course of her life forever.

Check out a preview of Katie & Logan in incarcerated & Teal & Trent in inevitable!

Indelible Excerpt

Part 1 Kentucky 2001

“Fuck this shit,” Trent muttered, as beads of sweat gathered from the top of his head to the crack of his ass. Lifting his hands, he grabbed hold of the vehicle’s undercarriage and rolled himself out from underneath. For the life of him, he could not comprehend why the owner of this ‘69 Camaro continued to treat this baby as if it was some fucking Chevy Malibu.

Groaning, he stretched and stood, releasing the aches and pains from laying prone in one spot for so long. Using his arm, he swept the sweat away from his forehead, and took a few steps out of the partially covered garage and into the scorching sun. As the sun’s rays beat down on his skin, he lifted the sleeveless shirt he’d discarded earlier and wiped the remaining sweat from his face and neck.

The mid-summer sun had become a sweltering beast, transforming his skin from its normal pale coloring to a deep, dark bronze. He’d avoided a farmer’s tan solely because it was too damned hot to wear a shirt while working, unless he absolutely had to. Kentucky’s heat was so oppressive, Trent had considered—on more than one occasion—moving to a colder state. Maybe one that actually had a winter, and a mild-ass summer. The bar he frequented out of town even had a signature summer drink called Devil’s Ball Sweat, and as repulsive as it sounded, the drink itself was damned good. The thought of it had his mouth watering.

      On leave from the Marines, Trent had found his way back home, and into the familiar grease and fumes of the auto body shop, where he’d slaved away as a teenager. But life had changed since high school. Trent was now in his mid-twenties, part owner of a garage, fully enlisted in the Marines, and waiting for the call of duty.

Logan’s voice pulled Trent from his musings and he near jumped out of his skin.

His friend’s brow lifted as he deliberately ignored Trent’s jitteriness. “Hey, man. You hungry?”

As if on cue, Trent’s stomach roared. He placed a greasy hand over his eyes, shielding the sun’s glare, to find Logan headed toward him with a 7/11 bag in hand. Trent nodded and moved to the sink, squirting some Fast Orange into his hands. Using his elbow to turn on the hot water, he shoved his hands under the steaming spray.

      “You gonna work on this all day, or you planning on taking a real break? You’ve only been back home a few weeks and you haven’t done shit with anybody. Barely been out of the house.”

Trent turned to see a couple of hotdogs, a bag of chips, and a forty sitting on his workbench. Logan had already started in on his own food. Trent’s mouth watered at the sight. He’d been in the heat for most of the day, and skipping breaks to shorten the workday made sense, until he was dizzy with hunger, of course. Drying his hands, he grabbed a milk crate and carried it over to the workbench and sat down.

      Trent had ignored Logan’s question, but his friend stared at him expectantly. Between gulps of his beer and a bite of his hot dog, he gave in. “Who’s been asking?”

      Logan shook his head and took a hefty drink of his soda. He’d never been much of a drinker. “Nobody. It’s just, before you left, you were all over the place. This bar, that club, and now that you’re back . . .” he shrugged and let the sentence hang in the air.

Trent didn’t need anyone worrying about him. Besides, he’d gone to Gator’s a few times since his return. He’d taken care of himself for the past decade, with little to no help, yet Rhonda, the garage’s accountant, who’d taken a shining to Trent, was always up his ass about finding a woman and settling down.

That was the thing about a lot of women in the South. They always wanted to bag a man, settle down, and duplicate, but Trent wasn’t trying to hear it. The military had helped him perfect his ability to survive on his own. He didn’t need anyone else.

      He moved the bottle from his lips and set down the chili and cheese hotdog, his stomach groaning in protest. “You been talking to Rhonda?” Trent couldn’t hold back his anger. Rhonda seemed to think she had his best interest at heart—her words, not his—and that shit was getting old.

      Logan lifted his chin. “You always get pissed when she comes around. You messing with her?” Eying Trent with half-veiled disapproval, he added, “I see the way she looks at you, and that shit ain’t right. She’s old enough to be your mother.” He scarfed down the rest of his hotdog, while managing to keep a grimace on his face.

      Trent cocked a brow. “I can tell you one thing. I’ve never seen a better pair of tits on a woman her age.” He smiled wildly at Logan’s appalled glare, waggling his eyebrows to goad him further.

Logan had less years under his belt, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d call the man a virgin. Yeah, Rhonda was in her mid-forties, but damned if she didn’t have long legs, a round ass, and tits too firm and high to be real. He could only imagine the things she knew and would be willing to do.

      “Whatever, man. I brought it up because I’m headed to Louisville for a party. You want in?”

      Trent finished one hotdog and opened the second before answering. “Who the hell wants to drive almost two hours for some party?” He shoved half the dog in his mouth.

      Logan shoved his hands through his hair and stood. “Look, it’s been nothing but boring ass work since you’ve been gone. Hell, maybe I’ll join the military.” He picked up his trash and threw it in the nearby can. “There ain’t nothing to do here, other than work.”

Trent glanced up at the man. Was he actually thinking of joining the military out of boredom? There wasn’t a war going on, but being owned by the government was no picnic.

      Trent started in on his chips. “Who do you know in Louisville that’s got you willin’ to drive over there for a party?”

Second Look: Incarcerated: Katie and Logan | Indelible Beneath His Ink

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“I feel like I’m in high school again,” Katie admitted with a smile. She was of course talking about the good days in high school when she wasn’t being teased or ignored.  

Scott chortled in what sounded like disbelief. “What? How so?”

She didn’t want to sound like a moonstruck fool, but waiting by the phone for a guy to call brought back good and bad memories. She cuddled up under her blanket, moving the phone to her other ear so she could get comfortable. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t know what I’m talking about since you were never the one sitting by the phone waiting for a guy you liked to call you.”

He groaned, and Katie smiled at the affect she had over him at times. “So you do like me? And here I thought you only tolerated me because you had nothing else to do but wait for your novel to come back from the editor.” Katie could hear the laughter in his voice.

“Maybe it started that way, but things change.” She wondered if things were different, if they’d spontaneously met, if he would be interested in her. She didn’t know what he looked like, but his damned voice made her stomach drop and her heart thunder.

Scott’s voice grew serious. “What changed, Kristen?” At the sound of her fake name, Katie realized how silly it was to think that the two of them could ever be anything more than pen pals. What was even more ridiculous was the fact that she had told him about the night she’d lost her child, but she couldn’t tell him her real name. She wanted his time and honesty, but she hadn’t given him a hundred percent of what she demanded of him.

“Kathryn Andreassen,” she blurted.

“Who?”

The confusion in his voice almost made her laugh, but fear that he’d be pissed she lied kept the laughter at bay. “Scott, when I first signed up for this program, I . . . I didn’t give my real name.”

“Oh yeah?”

There was an edge to his voice that she’d not heard before. It didn’t sound like disappointment or even anger. “I was nervous about what I was doing and I—”

“You wanted anonymity,” he finished. “I get that.”

Yeah, well, at least she had wanted it at that time. “So you aren’t mad?” She sat up, comforted by how well he’d taken it.

“Not at all.”

Confused, Katie asked, “Why?”

A beat of silence passed before Scott spoke. “Because I did the same. My name isn’t Scott, its Logan. Logan Whyte. I lied for a different reason, though.”

The relief she’d just felt plummeted, and goose bumps settled over her skin.

“I didn’t want you to look me up and see what I’d done before I had a chance to tell you myself. By the time we’d gotten to the point where we could be straightforward with each other, I honestly forgot to tell you my real name.”

Katie was about to speak when the one-minute warning sounded, alerting them that the collect call was about to disconnect.

“Kris— I mean Kathryn—”

“Call me Katie, everyone does.”

“Okay. I’ll call you right back, I need to talk to you about something.” Logan hung up before Katie had a chance to reply.

She pressed the end button, got out of bed, and went to glance out the window. The snow was coming down in sheets, but in Vermont that wasn’t a big issue. It was the low visibility that worried Katie. The phone sounded and she placed it to her ear, listening as the automated voice droned on. Once she pressed one, Logan’s deep voice came on the line.

“Sweetheart, I want to talk to you about your phone bill.”

Katie groaned and sat down in her desk chair; she was scared as hell to look at her bill.

“Yeah, I know, but I enjoy talking to you. Your voice is the highlight of my day. I have an idea though.”

Katie perked up. “I’m listening.”

“Good, that’s my girl.” Whenever Logan called her things like his girl, honey, or sweetheart, her heart fluttered. “I’m going to get my lawyer to add money to my canteen. That way, I can call you and they’ll charge it to me. How’s that sound?”

Katie bit her lip. They hadn’t talked about financials, and she wasn’t sure what money Logan had . . . if any at all. “Are you sure? I mean, I haven’t gotten my bill yet, so it might not be too high.”

Logan grunted, and Katie had heard that sound enough to know that he didn’t agree. “No, it’s going to be sky high, and if you have a hard time paying it you let me know.” He sounded so sincere that Katie’s stomach fluttered.

“I’ll be fine,” she whispered.

“Don’t be shy. If you can’t pay it, you let me know.”  He repeated.

“I will.” She knew she could afford it, but she wasn’t excited about seeing it. “So your lawyer is going to give you the money?” Seemed like a nice thing to do, but Logan had expressed to her many times that he didn’t like the man.

“No, my friend, Trent, sends me my money. I sold my truck and put him in charge of my finances. I trust him with my life,” he said earnestly.

“Sounds like a good guy.” Katie felt the same way about Teal, even though the woman seemed to want to take her dead mother’s place.

“He saved my ass from the black kids that constantly thought they saw a target on my ass. I swear, I was eighteen, white, and a bit chunky, and that’s all it took for those thugs to want to kick my ass.” He let loose a hollow laugh. Pain radiated from it, and Katie heard it loud and clear.

She wasn’t sure what to say, but if she hadn’t known before she knew now that Logan was white. That discovery aside, Katie had also had her share of times when black kids picked on her, but it wasn’t just black kids. It was black and white kids. Both races had their assholes.

“I know the feeling. When I was younger, I was never sure what made kids think I was such an easy target, but they did and I suffered.”

Logan’s voice grew gentle. “Baby, it’s because they are jealous of you. I know that’s a parental thing to say, but it’s true. They want what we have, and when they can’t have it, they steal it. Mexicans, too. They just stood and watched as I got the shit kicked out of me.”

Katie couldn’t help but feel sorry for Logan. “At least you had Trent. I’m glad you didn’t have to go at it alone.” And that was the honest truth. She had friends, but never ones who would stick around long enough, or even through the entire year. Logan’s situation would have been a lot worse if not for Trent, Katie was sure of it. She at least had her mom and dad and later on, Teal, but Logan only had his drunken uncle, Luke. “Things could have been real bad if he hadn’t helped, huh?”

“I probably would have gotten killed, so yeah, things would’ve been real bad if he hadn’t come along. Trent was into some real crazy stuff, and those thugs went running scared.” He laughed. “After that, I shaved my head, worked out every day, got a few custom tattoos, bought a gun, and dared those assholes to come near me.” Katie imagined a tall, well-built man, covered with tattoos, and a gun in his waistband. Besides the gun, the rest made a very sexy picture, even if she couldn’t imagine his face.

She lowered her voice, hoping to change the subject. “The picture you just painted doesn’t sound very intimidating to me.”

“Oh yeah?” She could hear him lick his lips. “What kind of picture are you imagining over there?” The timbre of his voice changed, leaving behind the anger and bringing forth something sexier, decadent even. After he’d hit on her during their first phone call—forcing her to hang up on him—she noticed he’d been choosing his words very carefully. However, little by little he’d been breaking down her walls, and on top of that, her loneliness was starting to get the better of her.

“Well,” she adjusted herself comfortably on her bed, “I can’t see your face of course, but you’ve said you are six foot two, you’ve worked out for the past fifteen years, and you eat right, taking pride in your body.” Katie sighed, and then let loose a little moan of appreciation. “You see what I’m getting at here?”

“Shit,” Logan whispered. “Yeah, I think I can see where your mind is going. You want to tell me more about that?”

Katie exhaled. “What the heck am I doing?” She sat up, her face hot with more than just nervousness. “I’m sorry.”

“Goddamn, girl. Don’t be sorry, be honest and tell me what you were thinking.” His voice was gruff, but not with anger.

Katie covered her mouth to keep her delighted laughter in.

At her silence, he whispered not unkindly, “Tease.”

“You know I don’t mean to be,” she said honestly. Katie was horny and so was Logan; she guessed eventually they’d joke and flirt about it, but that was it.

He cleared his throat, but she caught laughter in it. “I’m not sure. Babe, I’m gonna let you go. I need to call Trent and set up the money transfer to my canteen.”

Katie placed as much pout in her voice as she could. “Fine.” She could keep him on the phone longer if she wanted to, but she really did want him to set up a calling plan for them.

He groaned again, and Katie wasn’t too sure he was actually going to be making a phone call when he hung up, but maybe handling some personal business. Shame hit hard. She wasn’t a tease, and she didn’t want Logan rubbing one out on his own because of her. She sweetened her voice and said, “I have some preparing to do for this storm anyway, so I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Take a peek at Few Are Angels!

    I opened my mouth to speak, but realized in my haste to yell at him, I hadn’t thought of exactly what to say. Kale released a sigh and waited for the bombardment of words to be unleashed. I remained silent. I rammed my fingers through my hair, completely destroying the ponytail I’d perfected earlier. I pulled the elastic band off and allowed my hair to fall in layers down my back and around my face. Kale’s body stiffened, and his eyes morphed into burnished black pools of liquid. The muscles in his jaw clenched and released as he sniffed the air. He literally sniffed the air. I looked around, but I knew we were alone except for Jace, and he was doing a perimeter check. Did Kale smell me, or was there something else out there? Kale drifted closer to me. His face was washed in the light the moon reflected off the snow. Harsh lines tainted his face as I watched him battle the urge to close the space between us. Using my better judgment for once in my life, I calmly started to move backward, earning me a sly smirk from Kale.

“Um, is everything okay?” I stuttered, trying to tamp down my worry. Kale had never looked at me like that, not even when we kissed, and it scared me. 

His face was beautiful, but as the moon cast a glow on his skin, I saw Kale was interested in more than just a kiss. Another icy breeze wafted past us, ruffling my hair and sending a shiver down my spine as I realized Kale could smell my hair. The wind blew my fragrance to him, branding his senses with my scent. Quickly, I reached for the elastic band on my wrist and went to control my freed locks. Kale groaned low in his throat, stopping midway through the action.

“Ah, but you smell so…” He took another deep breath and stared at me with his obsidian eyes.

I quickly pulled my hair up into a messy ponytail and pulled my hat over my head. I hoped it was enough, but it seemed all it took was one scent to release the predator in Kale. It was odd; Kale had never before cared about my scent. What was so different tonight?

“See, all better. Right?” I asked, with still a trace of fear.

He hadn’t stopped his lazy gait toward me, but I stopped as my back hit a tree.

“Kale, are you okay? I have never seen you like this.”

Kale smiled wider, revealing what he had spent so long hiding from me. His teeth were mesmerizingly white, and his fangs were revealed. They peeked at me, scaring me with the promise of pain. Kale’s smile shined brighter and made me want to walk toward him, but I didn't. I knew better.

Kale cocked his head to the side and asked, “You have never seen me like what?” His voice was like music to my ears, causing my heart to speed up. I could feel each and every beat as my heart pumped blood throughout my body.

“Like you want to eat her for dinner,” Jace said, out of nowhere, answering Kale’s question for me.

Immediately Kale’s vision cleared, and he shook his head. He looked at me, confused. Jace appeared in my line of sight just behind Kale with a silver stick in his hand. At first glance the stick looked harmless, but as my vision focused, I realized what Jace was holding.

“Jeez, no!” I ran between Kale and Jace. “What are you doing, and what is that?” I asked, unable to take my eyes off of that damned shiny stick.

“He means to kill me with it.” When Kale finally spoke, his voice was no longer like a Siren’s call, but its normal, warm timbre.

I sighed in relief and spared a glance back at him, examining his eyes. They were still dark, but nothing like before. Jace moved forward, and his footsteps on the fresh snow were eerily quiet. I watched his feet as they moved toward me, finally meeting their destination. He stopped and looked at me.

“I mean to protect you,” Jace said, giving me a hard, appraising look. “When was the last time you fed, diseased one?” Not once did he release me from his ice blue stare.

I flinched at the words that came from Jace’s mouth. Even though Kale had scared me, I wasn’t about to let Jace use that against him.

“Kale, his name is Kale,” I said.

Jace inclined his head, acknowledging my correction, but didn't modify his words. He waited for Kale to answer him.

I turned to Kale, torn between wanting to know the answer and waiting to respect his privacy. Kale stood still as a bronze statue, keeping his body taut and his eyes trained on the silver stake.

“It’s none of your concern,” Kale answered.

I pushed aside my disappointment. I thought I at least deserved the answer because I was the one who got the “hungry eyes” stare down. “Put the stake away,” I quietly commanded Jace. “Everything is okay now.”

Jace placed the stake on his belt under his coat without protest.

My worry slightly dissipated. I assumed if Jace thought Kale was a threat, he wouldn’t have put away his weapon so readily.

“So, Princezná, what’s the plan?”

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The series is now complete!! Check out Few Are Angels!

War is raging between the Immortals and the Dark Prince’s army of half-breed vampires — and gifted Ella finds herself at the center. Can renegade half-breed vampire Kale keep her safe as their forbidden love awakens? 

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Happy Halloween | Teaser Tuesday | In The Dark

“Where in the hell did you learn to throw knives?” Irish asked, counting her knives in the tree. She’d made all of her throws and to add insult to injury, she landed each of her knives on top of his, except one—the one he’d missed.

He’d actually lost the wager.

            She sat down close to the mouth of the cave and looked to him. “A race nearly extinct, remember? When you are in hiding, you learn how to protect yourself. Plus, there wasn’t much else to do.”

Her words sobered him up a bit. He was still amazed at her ability, but he felt like hell for the reason she’d ever needed to learn in the first place. Her kind was hunted and killed off by his kind in the past.

“Now,” she looked up at him, “you’ll teach me to kiss.”

            “I—uh . . .” He scratched his head and backed away.

            “You, uh . . . promised.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that the kind of man you are? One who reneges on a deal?”

He hadn’t thought she’d win the bet. Crossing his arms over the expanse of his chest, he huffed. “Why do you need to learn now?” He gestured around. “Here of all places?” Maybe he could stall. Just the thought of his lips on hers had him ready to explode in his pants. But she was firmly on the Hands Off Irish list. The first reason being, she was promised to another man. The second reason being, she was untouched.

            “Why not now? There’s nothing else to do but wait.”

He took a deep breath and wondered if it made him a bastard to want to be the man who taught her to kiss. There was something erotic about kissing. Irish had to banish that idea from his head because there was no damned way he was teaching her to kiss. “You should be preparing for what’s to come.”

            Her blonde brow arched. “If that knife competition didn’t convince you I’m capable of taking care of myself, then maybe you forgot when you first saw me on the isle, when I had just gutted a man from his privates to his neck.” She raised her chin, daring him to say anything.

            “Lesson one: If you want a man to kiss you, you don’t talk about slicing anyone’s balls.” She nodded emphatically and he didn’t have the heart to tell her he was only kidding. He pushed off the wall, strode over, and sat down in front of her.

She was biting her lips—most likely a nervous gesture—and while he found it endearing, he reached up and pulled the puffy lip from between her teeth.

            “Lesson two: Don’t damage the goods.” He smiled when she blushed. “Come here,” he whispered and she obliged. “Will you sit on my lap?” For him, the best part of a kiss was the intimacy it offered. Having her close would increase the heat of her body against his.

Irish needed to cool down his libido, reminding himself, this is just a lesson. It would go no further than a kiss.

She nodded and settled in his lap.

“Okay, here we go.” He’d never had to instruct a kiss, figuring that kissing was something so natural, the two people would find a rhythm all their own. So, he’d try it that way. He leaned in and her eyes went wide. Pulling back, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

            “I thought you were going to teach me.” In the waning sunlight, her eyes sparkled and her pink cheeks flamed.

He smiled. “Kissing is natural. I can’t really instruct you through the mechanics because my mouth is going to be on yours. I want you to place your lips on mine, then follow my movements. Do what comes naturally to you. If you want to stop, just pull away.” When she nodded her understanding, he leaned in part way, waiting for her to lean in as well.

            The first soft touch of her lips rocketed him out of his body. He slanted his head and applied more pressure, and like he thought, her natural reaction was to slant her head in the opposite direction. With a smooth motion, Irish pushed his tongue past the barrier of her lips. She gave a small gasp in surprise, but quickly copied his movements.

Her hand came up and nails scored his scalp, causing him to delve deeper. His fangs extended, scraping over her tongue, drawing a small bead of blood. He sucked on the tip of her tongue and she moaned so loud, it reverberated off the cave walls. Irish realized his hesitance to teach her had not come from anything other than his fear of losing control. Because he wanted more than a simple kiss.

Ophelia’s hands moved to his shoulders, holding him in a vice grip. Her body, hot against his, moved of its own accord. Soon, she moved her legs to straddle his waist, and he could scent her arousal. Irish was primed and ready, grabbing onto her ass to hold her firmly on his lap. It was then, an unwarranted thought blasted into his mind. Ophelia was to be queen, and when she hit that throne, she needed to be a virgin.

That thought sobered him up real quick. He pulled away. “Lesson over.” Grunting, he gently moved her off his lap.

            “Wait, why?” She stood with him. “Was it wrong?” He felt her hand on his shoulder.

            “No, it was all right—too right.” He moved to the mouth of the cave. “We need to head out. The sun is low and we can get there in time to meet the boat.” He didn’t look back at her. Yes, he was an ass for pushing her away without explanation, but hell, if he got hard again with no sort of release, his balls would explode in his pants.

When he did turn, she was removing the shirt he’d given her to wear. “What are you doing?” he asked in a panicked voice.

            She eyed him for a moment then frowned. “I’m going to shift. I’ll move faster this way, and my senses will be sharper. Plus, you said I could go to the compound with you and I am better when I’m in wolf form.” Her words were sharp and her tone was clipped.

Good, he needed her to forget the kiss and focus on the task at hand. He turned just as she pulled that tattered dress up and over her lithe body. “Do you—uh—remember the plan?” he asked. At her silence, he turned to find a large wolf with silky fur the same hue as a stormy night’s sky and an endearing little patch of pure white fur under her jaw. “Damn,” he whispered.

Moving forward, he reached out to the wolf. He’d seen her as a wolf before, but each time was as amazing as the first. She nuzzled his hand when he pet her. “I won’t be able to understand you, but I know you can hear me.” He knelt down in front of her. “If anything happens to me, or if shit hits the fan, run.” She gnashed her teeth and shook her head. “Hey,” he reached up and caressed her soft fur, “for me, please. Your people will need you to lead them back to the coast.”

He couldn’t go off into this mission worrying about her, but as he stood and headed out into the night, he knew some of them weren’t making it home. He could only pray it didn’t include Ophelia.

CHECK OUT THE FREE START OF THE SERIES ON AMAZON!!

Take A Peek at Indelible: Beneath His Ink

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COMING DECEMBER 12th, 2016

Trent, a man who’d come from a shit home in Kentucky, held close to him his greatest treasure. Sappy as that shit sounded, he could think of no other way to describe it. It hadn’t even been a year, and she’d already showed him what it was like to truly be loved.

Teal had become his rock, the light at the end of the tunnel, but she had also become more than a beacon towards happiness. She’d become his connection to a new world. One in which he was expected to be open and honest, caring and kind; but most of all, Teal expected Trent to live up to old expectations. The phone started its chiming again, only this time, he recognized the sound as Teal’s email notification, and again he ignored it.

    Trent rested his head on his palm and watched the rise and fall of Teal’s chest as she slept. If she woke up now, she’d most definitely curse him out for being what she called a creepy-ass stalker. He took in her slightly parted lips, until she rolled over, giving him a glorious view of her round ass.

    His voice must have caught her attention. “What the fuck, Trent?” She rolled back over and eyed him.

Trent took in her mussed up curls and sleep-filled eyes. She slept with a black silk thing wrapped around her head. He found it hilarious that her wild sleeping habits had the material hanging off her head. “What?”

    With a groan, Teal sat up. “We’ve talked about this.” She shoved a mass of curls out of her face, the motion pushing her chest out. He was damned glad he’d talked her into sleeping nude.

    Trent reached up and squeezed a breast. “Talked about what?” Goosebumps broke out over her skin as he kneaded her smooth flesh.

    She shooed his hand away. “Staring at me while I sleep.” She scooted off the bed and Trent followed. “Is it some creepy white man thing?”

    He followed her as she headed into the bathroom, taking a quick glance at the clock. He’d need to head to the shop in an hour or so. “Nothing to do with race, baby girl.” Trent moved past her and started the shower. “And everything to do with that fine, plump ass.” He turned around just as she finished brushing her teeth. “One of these days, you’re going to let me fuck it.” He smirked at her grimace, and moved closer.

    Throwing a hand out, she stopped him mid-step. “I am going to tell you now. That big thing,” she pointed to his crotch, “isn’t going anywhere near my ass.”

Trent pushed past her hand and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her neck and made his way to her lips. After a searing kiss, he released her and stepped into the shower.

    Pushing open the shower curtain, Teal stepped in behind him. “What all do you have to do at the shop today?” She busied herself with washing his back, as he massaged shampoo into his hair.

    “I need to go over payroll. And since I’m down a few men,” he sighed, “I may need to do a couple of extra jobs, so we aren’t too far behind after the holiday.” The fact that he was dating a black woman had spread faster than herpes in a whorehouse. “You still staying a week past the forth?”

    “Yeah, I took the full two weeks, just like you asked.” She finished his back and adjusted the water to rinse him off.

Trent stuck his head under the stream before he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist.             “I’d bring you to the shop, but you’d be bored out of your mind. Plus, here, you have TV and food. That’s at least something for you to do.” He dried off, then rubbed the towel over his head. Teal stepped out behind him and he wrapped the towel around her body. Leaning in for another kiss, he pulled back when it wasn’t returned. “What?”

     Holding the towel around her, she took a step back and sighed. “I kind of feel guilty about you losing those two guys. Yes, they were racist dicks, but it hurt business.”

Trent took her hand and led her into the bedroom, where he pulled out his work clothes.        “It’s been a hassle for sure, but I can assure you, it is all on me.” He wasn’t lying. His own actions had led to him hiring deplorable men in order to keep up a façade. Trent felt like shit that his hotheadedness from years ago had cast a shadow over their relationship today, and he was working hard as fuck to fix the situation. As always though, his past came back to bite him in the ass.

    Teal dropped the towel and moved to her suitcase. “So, what about Harper?” She slipped on a pair of shorts and threw one of his shirts over her head. “Have you heard anything since the last letter?”

Talk about my past haunting me . . .

Turning to face him, she picked up a bottle from her suitcase and poured some pink liquid into her palm. Rubbing her hands together, she spread the stuff throughout her hair.

It was odd to him. There was supposed to be some huge difference when it came to a black woman’s hair, versus a white woman’s hair, but Trent hadn't noticed a thing. Teal got her hair wet the same way Shayla had, and she styled and used similar shit in her hair as well.

    “Trent?” Teal’s voice was louder than before, and he realized she’d been trying to get his attention.

    He sat down on the side of the bed and stuffed one foot into his boot. Unable to look at her, he kept his eyes on the grimy boot. “No, nothing.”

    She sat on the bed, her warm hand grabbing his. “Look, maybe she is still angry at the past.” Trent gave her a withering stare. “I know. She was the one who walked away, but I am more than positive you understand why she left the first time, and her fear of you and your friends the second.”

Trent moved his hand from beneath Teal’s and started on the second boot. Shame lanced through him when he realized that for all the honesty he required from Teal, he was unable to return it. He hadn't told her the truth about what had happened after Harper had left him standing there like a fool, and he sure as hell hadn't told her his actions were the reason she went running—not just the tattoo. 

Few Are Angels | Excerpt

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That bed, that room, or even that house didn’t feel like home, though I’d been there many times before during past summers and long weekends with my parents.  The thought of them left a bad taste on my tongue. I swallowed several times, but the bitter taste lingered, growing stronger. I pushed the memory away and stored it in the back of my mind, the place where I locked all of the things that I couldn’t handle and the things that I refused to remember.  That was where their memory would have to stay. I couldn't keep thinking about them because then the voice would start, and with the voice would come the visions and the sickness.  I sat up in bed and looked around for what seemed like the hundredth time. I knew it was late because it was pitch black outside, but I didn’t look at the clock.  I hadn’t slept a full five hours in weeks, and I didn't have anywhere to be in the morning, so time seemed irrelevant. I stayed in this odd fugue state where I was aware of all that was around me, and even more aware that none of it mattered anymore.  I floated through the days on autopilot, waiting for a situation where a reaction was expected from me, and remembering the “normal” way to react. Pretending was a chore that I wasn’t sure I could handle much longer.   The room was so familiar. I knew it like the back of my hand. Why did it seem a million miles away? Or like a dream? Alex and I had spent plenty of time hanging out and growing up together, discovering who we were and where we wanted to go when we were grown.  To us, that meant when we turned eighteen. And now that I’d “grown up,” the disappointment that was my life was more unsettling than anything. The realization of where I was versus where I should have been was a relentless headache I couldn’t remedy. Why did this room seem so cold and alone?  A summer escape became a prison, and a constant reminder of a past that I could never return to.

Normally, my father would be down the hall snoring, and my mother would be in the kitchen with Mrs. Carlton giggling over vodka martinis.  Alex and I would be watching old reruns of Miami Vice.  The memory of my parents crept up my spine and into my heart, causing it to spasm in pain. My lungs felt as though they were filled with water.  I gasped for air, trying to catch my breath, wondering if I would always feel the physical pain at the memory of my mother and father, wondering if the pain would be all I would have left of them in the years to come. In my eyes, memories equaled pain.

I stood up and bent over, putting my face into my sweatpants, and tried to take deep breaths. That had always worked when I panicked at summer camp because I was homesick, feeling out of place amongst the kids who didn’t understand why I didn't want to go swimming in the lake or horseback riding, why I wanted to go home instead.  My stomach heaved. I regretted skipping dinner. Nothing was worse than dry heaving as my body tried to purge itself.

I was sure that I couldn't throw up memories.  Even if I could, I didn't think it would matter; I’d still be full of them. Suddenly, I realized what was happening. I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it, but I didn't want to ride it out for fear that someone would find me passed out in the morning.   The usual wave of nausea that came with my hallucinations slithered into my belly.  My head felt as if it were on fire, which caused my vision to blur and darken.  Everyone thought I was better, that I was cured or close to it. I ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, hoping that I could shock my body into being normal—free from visions and voices. But it was no use.

“Come to me,” the voice whispered, so close to my ear that I whirled around, thinking someone was in the bathroom with me. The voice. I fought the urge to do as it commanded: follow it into the darkness. My tears threatened to explode, but I held them back. I refused to break down at the Carltons’.  They weren’t going to send me back to the hospital.  The voice and hallucinations weren’t my fault; I couldn’t control them. 

My headache still raged, and from experience, I knew it had not yet reached its crescendo.  I gripped the porcelain sink and squeezed my eyes shut, praying for the pain to subside. My mother had once said that pain was a gift.  It reminded you that you were still alive, and surviving the pain would only make you stronger.  Did she feel that way as she lay dying in the wreckage that night? The thought of my parents’ ordeal did not help. I knew that if I had a full on attack, I would be dragged into a hallucination and they’d find me in the morning, unconscious on the floor. That’d earn me a trip right back to Dr. Lithe and Nurse Laura, with her needles and her pills that made you feel nothing and sleep for days. 

My hands began to ache from the tight grip I had on the sink. When I removed them, they felt stiff and cold.  The voice hadn’t spoken again, but I could hear what sounded like someone scratching at the bathroom door.  I froze. I thought to call out and ask who was there, but an intruder wouldn’t announce himself. 

Would it be so bad if someone killed me?  I was a whack job. I’d flipped out in school when I’d had the vision, the one of my death. They sent me to Ocean Trace to talk to a shrink, and like an idiot, I had confessed my vision to the doctor. A man’s voice demanding that I return to him. My own death. That day I became the fragile girl that everyone was afraid to be around, scared they would set off another episode.  Finally, it was decided that I would go to an inpatient care facility for seventy-two hours, which turned into three weeks.  That was what happened when you let people in, when you told the truth.  It was my fault, and I realized then that keeping my mouth shut and keeping people at a safe distance was for the best. 

I shook my head and rotated my shoulders, trying to pull myself from the fog the pain left behind. Acting braver than I truly felt, I decided that if the person who belonged to the voice in my skull was outside that door waiting to kill me, then so be it.  I couldn’t live like that anymore.  I grabbed the handle, tightened my grip, and wrenched the door open, fully expecting to see a man in a black ski mask with a knife or a gun, but was instead greeted by Max, the Carltons’ pet husky.  His big eyes were lined with what seemed to be worry, or maybe just the need to pee. Since my headache was receding and my stomach was no longer rolling, I decided that some fresh, cold air would be good for my nerves.

The Carltons lived in Northern Virginia along the near-dead Elmwood forest. The mountains there were vast. In Virginia Beach, where I’d moved from, the “mountains” were no more than a few rolling hills. The mountains in Cedar Grove were beautiful, but I had no interest in exploring them as I had during summer and winter breaks in the past. Nothing was the same. Everything seemed smaller. The mountain trails and fresh water streams didn't hold the wonder that they once had.  It was October and already freezing. I slipped into my coat and the new snow boots the Carltons had bought me before I arrived. I tiptoed down the stairs as quietly as I could, Max following closely. I headed out the front door, nearly tripping as Max bounded out and ran straight to the abandoned shed to the left of the house.  As soon as I stepped outside the, cold Northern Virginia wind slapped me in the face, doing just what I hoped it would: waking me up completely. 

 I looked ahead and saw that Max had made his way to the back of the shed.  I prayed he would make his business short so I didn’t freeze to death.  The porch light didn't reach beyond the front of the shed, and Max had disappeared behind it.  The snow covered half of my boots, and I hadn’t thought to wear gloves. I soon regretted going out with just boots and a coat.  I wasn’t in Virginia Beach where we got an inch or two of snow every ten years or so.  In the short time I’d been in Northern Virginia, more than four inches of snow had fallen.  I waited, and when Max didn't come back, I made my way closer to the shed, calling his name as quietly as I could, but with the cold and my growing annoyance, it was getting harder to care if I woke anyone in the house.  I didn’t have to worry about neighbors.  The closest ones were about four miles away.

“Max!”  I whispered fiercely against the icy wind. I hoped that even though he was a dog, he would hear the displeasure in my voice and comply.   The wind moaned quietly, creaking the brittle frozen branches of the trees around me.  My snow boots sounded as if they were crunching glass beneath them. Great, he’ll hear me before I get to him, and he’ll run. I had only wanted to get some fresh air, not relocate to the front yard.  I walked faster, letting my anger quell the fear I felt creeping along my skin as I neared the shed. It was darker back there because the light from the porch didn’t reach that far.  The contrast created an obscure object in front of me.  My vision seemed blurred again, and the shed looked like a giant ink spot, dark and ominous. Normally, I would have turned around and gone the other way when my nerves skittered under my skin, but I didn't care anymore.  As I neared the blurred ink spot, I almost wished a fox or wolf would be back there to eat me and put me out of my misery. I squashed that thought; the doctor called them “self-destructive thoughts.” I had scoffed at him when he said it, but I wondered why I’d been having so many recently.  The thought of something dangerous back there sent a shiver down my spine, and I trembled.  I kept walking. It felt right, as if I were meant to be there. I was being pulled closer and closer to something familiar, a feeling that I couldn’t understand. 

I heard Max growling before I rounded the corner, but not even that stopped me from moving forward.  I understood that something wasn’t right, maybe even dangerous, but my legs wouldn’t comply with fear’s plea to turn and leave. My stomach did a few nervous flips, and my heart raced, leaving me lightheaded and dizzy, but I kept walking. I placed a hand on the side of the shed for balance.  I felt as if I were being swallowed by the murky darkness, never to find my way out again.  My hands and legs were numbing and stiffening from the freezing cold, but I ignored the pain and continued.  It seemed as though I would never reach my destination until, rounding the corner, I heard what sounded like my name being called behind me.  My brain wanted to comply and turn around to see who it was; however, my feet had other plans. Max growled again. My heart threatened to beat up into my throat and out of my body. I held onto the shed with frozen fingers, trying not to collapse into the snow. My legs and feet had gone numb, and my head was a balloon slowly floating above me. I heard my name again, but closer.  Max finally came around from behind the shed and headed to the voice behind me. As I slowly slid to the frozen ground, I saw he had a red smudge on his gray-black muzzle. Max blurred, and my vision flickered, then went black. I didn’t even feel the snow as I fell face first into it.


#TeaserTuesday

#TeaserTuesday

Two days of isolation with Logan in his hotel room seemed to be just what the doctor ordered. While he’d only left once for a meeting with his lawyer and PO, Katie had used that time for some well-needed rest. She didn’t want to leave, and she’d even offered to pay for some additional days, but Logan had flat out refused her money saying he wasn’t going to cost her a cent—ever. Katie was pleased and disappointed by his declaration, but he was right. He needed to get back home, and the faster he did, the faster he could come back to her.

The 'In The Dark' series is now on Kindle Unlimited!

Chapter 1: Letting Go


A restless ache bloomed deep in Bessina’s chest, racing from her heart to her feet. A visceral need to stretch her legs and free her soul nearly wrenched her in two. Her muscles ached and her head pounded. She needed to run, not to escape, but to free her mind of the ensuing chaos.

Instead, with her feet stubbornly glued to the dock, Bessina awaited dawn. She’d said her farewells, yet couldn’t bring herself to leave. Uncertain of what was holding her to the spot, Bessina sighed. She glanced up and watched as the moon made its slow descent across the sky.

Everything was familiar, but not in the comforting way it should have been. Instead of warm memories, reality reminded her of how fragile friendships truly were. High school had come and gone, and her first year of college had been cruel.

It was in the past year she’d discovered what could happen if you trusted the wrong boy with the wrong information. To add insult to injury, she’d also learned some high school bonds couldn’t survive the gravities of college or life as new adults. The realization she wasn’t leaving behind much, left a glacial void in her chest.

Bessina hefted the heavy Jansport book bag, attempting to relieve her pinched and bruised shoulder. It had all the belongings she thought important enough to take on her trip. After readjusting the backpack as best she could, she checked her wristwatch. She needed to leave for her bus soon, if she was going to make it to the Amtrak station in time. This would be a true goodbye to her painful past.

There was probably a faster way to get to Plushin, Ohio than a fifteen-hour bus ride, but she wasn’t in a rush. Just heading away from the past would be enough for her.

The oppressive midsummer Florida heat assaulted her back and Bessina longed for the cold artificial air of the A/C units at college. The thought reminded her she hadn’t enrolled in any sessions, officially withdrawing her from college; she could no longer live on campus and was in fact, homeless. Talk about rock bottom.

On top of which, Bessina’s savings had run dry . . . and calling her father was not an option. She’d gone against his wishes when moving to Florida to attend Howard Lee University instead of Central Christian College of Kansas, and her father hadn’t spoken to her since. Unless it was to make sure she was still breathing, of course.

Their semi-monthly talks consisted of her explaining the month’s events, and her father replying with a series of grunts and sighs. It wasn’t the type of conversation a young woman would choose to have with her father, but that was another story for another day. Bessina could only handle one horrible relationship at a time.

She heaved a sigh and ran a hand through her unruly curls. Annoyed with herself for lingering longer than necessary, she finally moved toward the parking lot, where the only payphone in the city was located. Her shirt clung to her back, and her jeans bunched in all of the wrong places.

As she reached the pay phone, she dug through her pants pocket for the quarters. Facing the phone, she lifted the handset from its cradle, only to see the frayed end.

“Just great.” Looking around the abandoned docks, she tried to see if there was another place to call the cab company. No such luck. Bessina would have had time to walk to the nearest bus station to make her bus and her transfers, if she hadn’t stayed at the docks for so long. But it was the abandoned dock she had to say her farewells to. Sad? Yeah, but who would ever know? She was there alone, with no one to see her pitiful ritual.

A warm breeze drifted over her skin, carrying with it a moan so soft, Bessina thought she’d imagined the sound. She slowly turned around, listening for the sound again. Narrowing her eyes toward the docks, she observed the surrounding area with an intense focus. Just as she felt she was going insane, the soft moan came again—throaty and deep, as if the person were in pain.

The need to help waged war with her common sense, which urged her to run away from possible danger. What if someone fell through the rotted wood? Before she knew it, she was moving toward the sound. The thought of an injured person had her full attention, pulling her further from the concerns she’d had of missing her ride out of hell.

 

Chapter 2: Burning Dawn


As the darkened sky released the moon, it gave way to pink hues, sending a warning to all of night’s creatures; the sun would soon be there. Trace watched as his wards lay on the docks, still shrouded in darkness. Suicide by sun was the most painful way to go for a pureblood vampire. Yet he could only assume, after a millennium, one such as Samuel would not fear the pain of the sun.

Trace’s assignment had only been for one vampire, yet Sam’s lover, or heir, had arrived as well. He was not sure what she was, but as far as he was concerned, the price Rhys quoted him had just doubled. He watched as the sun inched its way closer to the couple. After his own pitiful existence had come to its end, he wondered if he would have the balls to go out in style. Or would he cower before some sort of true death as well?

For after centuries of living, Trace had nothing to live for. Not that he was contemplating suicide, but the day would come when life would become an encumbrance. As a dhampir, the sun could not harm him the way it could harm and destroy a blood born vampire; however, his lifespan was also not that of a mere human.

He had centuries, if not a millennia left of his life . . . and if even a percentage of the future mirrored his lonely existence now, then ending that shit might not be such a bad idea. How long could he take the lives of innocent mortals solely to protect the existence of his kind?

At the signal of his cell, Trace left his thoughts and pulled it from his pocket, checking the screen and connecting the call. “Yeah?” He greeted Jax, his technophile friend, and partner in crime.

Jax wheezed out a cough and Trace repressed the urge to grin. He wasn’t a morning person, nor was he the type to call when Trace was on Watcher duty.

             “Hey, I’ve got some news and I thought you might want to hear it.”

            “What’s going on, man?” A sound in the distance took Trace’s attention away from his friend’s stressed voice. He froze, scenting the air. The scent of vanilla and fresh earth compelled him to make his way through the canopy of trees, closer to the vampires, Sam and Hope. His senses went wild with the exotic scents of mineral rich earth, smoky woods, and the sweet hint of vanilla. Never had Trace scented such a rare combination, as humans normally gave off simple scents with little to no variants.

Perhaps another vampire or dhampir had wandered onto the docks. With his advanced sight, Trace stationed himself far enough away to allow privacy in their final moments, but now he regretted the distance. The urge to move closer was so great, his legs seemed to move on their own accord.

Trace scanned the area, searching for the origin of the sweet scent, but came up empty. In his personal oath to his wards, one he’d never spoken aloud, but ardently upheld, he would always stay miles away from them until their deaths were complete. Trace believed death was a personal experience, not something to be tainted by his own ugly soul.

Even with his advanced speed, Trace’s feet felt as if weighted down by cement blocks. The sun continued its path up into the sky, illuminating the world around him. The sound of Jax’s voice broke his concentration, but only for a second.

            “Maybe I should just tell her we can try again, but—” Trace had missed more than half of the conversation in his quest to locate the scent. “Avery isn’t the same. She’s chipper and happy, but I can tell it’s a façade.” Trace kept the phone to his ear but could only hear Jax as if he were talking through static.

A dark-skinned, coiled-haired female was making her way to the dock, exactly where his wards had positioned themselves. Trace observed the girl as she moved cautiously toward the sounds of Hope and Sam meeting the sun.

The scent of smoke pulled his gaze away from the woman and back to the disaster. It was too noticeable; she was sure to happen upon it. His gut tightened. Like a fool, Trace had believed Sam’s death would be one without incident.

***

Bessina pulled back at the smell of ash and smoke. She hadn’t heard any cars arrive, and had thought herself alone. That didn’t mean a car couldn’t have slipped past her notice, but it was highly unlikely. Whoever had arrived would have had to enter the same gates Bessina had to, unless they’d traveled through the murky water on the other side of the docks.

It could be some college students having a bonfire, she guessed. It was summer, and she and her old friends had often come there after parties to watch the sunrise. But they would be making more noise than she was hearing. The moans had since turned disturbing, as if there were a wounded animal on the dock just past the first empty store.

Smoke arched around something on the ground, and as Bessina moved closer, she could see someone had set something on fire. Not finding anything around to put it out, she cursed and barreled toward the site. Closing in, she realized it was two bodies set a flame.

Shocked, she stopped short, nearly falling off the dock. She landed on her knees and palms with a force that sent her skidding forward, every ounce of air disappearing from her lungs. Fear flooded her so swiftly and deep, she swayed from the intensity of it.

She stared into the burning eyes of a woman who was probably stunning at one point. Someone had reduced her to nothing more than some charred remains.

A scream ripped from her throat, so hard and loud, she choked on the next one. Pulling in a full breath, Bessina stood as best she could. What was she supposed to do? Her sight blurred. She feared she would pass out, leaving her vulnerable for whoever set those bodies on fire.

Marshaling her strength and will, Bessina stood straight and turned to run.

***

Trace eyed the girl warily before stepping from the shadows of the abandoned building into the cover of the dense trees. He’d smelled her blood as soon as she’d fallen. Every nerve in his body urged him towards the sweet scent of her lifeblood, mixed with cedar from her splinters and the rich minerals from the earth.

Her scent was distinctive, her eyes shone a preternatural golden hue and her heartbeat skittered in her chest faster than that of a human. She’d witnessed the death of two vampires, and though it seemed she hadn’t fully comprehended the magnitude of her situation, he had.

This woman—with the scent of an immortal, and wolf-like eyes—would have to be taken care of. A pity, really. Even with her face contorted in pain and terror, he could see she was stunning; her bright gaze held fear and a hint of primal intelligence. Perhaps deep down inside, there was a hint of enchantress blood coursing through her veins. Often times interbreeding with humans created half-breeds with latent powers, though he didn’t sense this was the case with her.

He watched, observing her movements. She was maybe a few years younger than his twenty-five. It never pleased him to have to kill humans. Their lives were already so short and insignificant. But death was his job. He possessed skills vampires didn’t. As a dhampir, one of those skills was the ability to survive the sun.

Tolerating sunlight meant he was perfect for his job. He was a Watcher, or as Trace liked to call it, a suicide specialist. Many vamps committed suicide; living forever wasn’t what movies and books portrayed it to be. To live through every war, epidemic, and fall of the economy, losing the ones you loved could devastate even the strongest of men. Once the Nation understood they could no longer stop it from happening, they went about creating Trace’s job.

A Watcher was nothing more than a voyeur, there to witness the end of a vamp’s life. It was also their duty to leave no witnesses behind, which brought Trace back to his current dilemma. The beautiful chocolate-skinned girl with sun-kissed hair, running from the ashes of Sam and Hope.

Calling his division leader, Trace detailed the info of the girl, and awaited the inevitable instructions to kill.


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Preview Running in the Dark on AMAZON!


Known as Trace to his enemies and friends,  this lethal Dhampir leaves no trace of his victims behind.
 


The life of deadly Russian slayer, Trace, has always revolved around death and preventing humankind from learning about the legendary creatures of the night. But now his position as a Watcher has become a prison, and dealing death for the Nation isn’t as prestigious as he once believed it to be. College dropout Bessina Darrow has witnessed things she isn’t permitted to see, a simple case of wrong place at the wrong time puts her life in danger. When Bessina becomes his new mark, Trace is prepared to eliminate her—until he discovers a way out for them both. Protecting Bessina means defying the leaders of the Nation, an act that has them both running for their lives. The more Trace fights to disappear from danger, the more he unravels the secrets surrounding his world of lore—secrets he must unveil to finally save a life, instead of destroy it.


Confessions in the Dark 2 Days!

Confessions in the Dark | In the Dark Book 3

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SCRIBD 

Ophelia prided herself in not panicking. Her heart might have been in her throat and beating a mile a minute, but she scrolled through the SAT phone with clarity, looking through nameless numbers, hoping to see an SOS number. Unfortunately, there was nothing to clue her in to who she’d be calling if she pressed the send button.

She looked to Irish again. His greying skin signaled she had little, if any, time to act, so she pressed send on the number currently on the screen. There was a beeping noise and then the phone rang.

            He mumbled something incoherent and she crawled over to him, placing her face as close to his as she could. His eyes were still closed, moving franticly beneath the lids. In his weakened state, he feebly tried to move his hand with no success.

            In Gaelic she asked, “How can I help you?” Now she was starting to panic. If anyone found where they were hiding, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to fight them off without risking Irish. In this state, Vasily’s men were sure to kill him.

            His eyes cracked open a sliver and his fangs descended. “I need—” As if all of the strength had been zapped from him, his hand went limp and his head fell back.

            A shout came from behind her and she turned, baring her teeth in a protective stance, but no one was there. The muffled shout came again and she glanced down at the phone. Picking it up, she said, “Yes?”

            A man with a Spanish accent answered. She remembered him, Jax. “What’s wrong?” His voice was calm and soothing, which managed to help calm her as well.

She examined Irish and explained everything she saw, including everything that had happened leading up to this point.

Jax grunted. “Is there an open wound on him anywhere?” Ophelia remembered the scent of blood and burned flesh and answered with confirmation. “Okay, can you get to it?”

She took a deep breath and wedged the SAT phone between her ear and shoulder. Pushing with both hands, she got him to roll onto his back. She opened his leather vest and pulled up his cotton shirt. The scent of blood and decay wafted up from the wound. It seeped and oozed blood and a clear liquid.

Ophelia covered her mouth at the atrocious scent. How was it decaying when it’d only been there for a few hours? “Yes, I see it. It looks bad and it’s bleeding. The blood is really dark though. Do you know what I should do?”

There was a silence, a flurry of curses, and then in a measured tone Jax said, “How do you feel about being bitten?” His voice sounded grim, as if this were the only option and he wasn’t sure she’d agree to it.

She cleared her throat and placed her hand to her neck. Heat flared in her collar and her heart gave an extra few thumps in anticipation. “Will it save him? Is there no other way?”

Jax sighed. “Yes, but you don’t have enough time. If you don’t give him your blood, he will die. He’s been poisoned with liquid silver and Olfbreathe seed is the only other cure. I doubt you’ll find it there. Weather conditions aren’t stable enough to grow it.”

It didn’t take long to make a decision. When everyone else had chalked up her disappearance as dismissal, Irish was the only one who’d wanted to free her from the confines of her place in the pack. “Okay, but how do I get him to bite? He’s not awake.” She eyed him again, searching for signs of life. He was breathing, but that was it.

            “There’s a weapon in his shoe. Use that.”

She searched for the weapon. A trap opened in the bottom of his shoe and she pulled the small blade from inside. Once she was positioned beside him, Ophelia placed his head in her lap and created as small cut on her wrist. Not too close to the artery, but not too far away either. Coaxing his mouth open, she placed her wrist above his mouth and waited—nothing.

            “Jax,” panic laced her voice, “he’s not—”

Before she could finish, Irish’s chest bowed and his fangs clamped down on her skin. At first, she thought to scream, but then his sharp fangs parted her flesh with a delicious burn that made her body sing. A moment later, she opened her eyes to find herself on her back with Irish on top of her.

Her blood dripped from his mouth, his face twisted in a feral grimace. Unsure of whether to push him away, or caress him, she put her hand on his chest and steadied her own breath. He panted above her, body tight and hot. Without thinking, she parted her knees, allowing Irish to settle in deeper. His considerable arousal lay heavy between them, cradled by her warm, soft thighs.

He lowered to her neck, but was stopped by her palm on his chest. He looked at her hand before flicking it away. Ophelia gasped, but didn’t stop his descent. The idea of Irish, fangs deep in her neck, sent excitement shooting through her core. He scraped the tips of his fangs over the delicate hollow of her neck.

She shuddered, and before she knew it, her hand flew to the back of his head and pulled him closer. All she could remember was the feel of his mouth over her wrist, the way it felt as he took her blood; each pull, yanking common sense from her body and replacing it with raw need.